


Sunday Morning Coming Down

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, BAMF Castiel, Drug Addiction, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guardian Angel Castiel, Humor, Inspired by Music, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series in eight parts that are reflective of the songs that inspired them, one for each day of the week (and an eighth day too).</p><p>"Dean Winchester is just your average dude living your average dude life: college student by day, bartender by night. </p><p>Unlike most people, however, Dean Winchester has his very own guardian angel.</p><p>And unlike most people with a guardian angel, he happens to be horribly, devastatingly, heart-achingly in love with his Castiel, the blue-eyed, winged man who has saved his ass more times than either of them could possibly count."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning Coming Down

**Author's Note:**

> [Sunday Morning Coming Down](http://youtu.be/ED5s1-Fe9FA) by Johnny Cash
> 
> I started this series because I just wanted to write a series of sexy, happy fluff stories but there is something seriously wrong with me because I can't do that. So be prepared for a little darkness in this light.
> 
> Check my [author tumblr](http://www.bettydays.tumblr.com) for updates on when I'll be posting the next episode, "Monday, Monday."
> 
> Oh and [here's the soundtrack.](http://rd.io/x/Rl56LEMv3PTh/)

Dean Winchester is just your average dude living your average dude life: college student by day, bartender by night. 

Like most people, Dean's weekday life is uneventful. He wakes up, eats breakfast, goes to class, eats again, goes to class again, works on homework, eats yet again, and then goes to work, only to crash onto his big empty bed at the end of every long, tedious day and sleep for a few hours. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Unlike most people, however, Dean Winchester has his very own guardian angel.

And unlike most people with a guardian angel, he happens to be horribly, devastatingly, heart-achingly in love with his Castiel, the blue-eyed, winged man who has saved his ass more times than either of them could possibly count.

Dean Winchester is not a religious man, yet every Sunday he finds himself on his knees praying to his guardian angel to get his firm, muscular behind down from heaven so that Dean can partake in his weekly worship.

And by weekly worship, he of course means sex. Really, really great sex.

This Sunday, even though Dean closed down Lucky's Tavern the night before and didn't get home until 4am, he still bounces out of bed at 11 on the dot, showers, shaves, and packs up his things.

He found a remote meadow off of Route 40 that has a wide clearing surrounded by woods and fields of blooming wildflowers. Before he met Castiel, he never considered himself one for romantic gestures, but now he finds himself daydreaming in class more often than not, thinking up little things here and there that would surprise Cas, would make him smile or blush or laugh, or any number of human gestures that he rarely expresses except in the presence of Dean.

Dean unfolds a big flannel blanket and sets it on the ground, putting the ridiculously cliche picnic basket on top and taking out the contents: sandwiches, wine, and Castiel's favorite cookies (Tollhouse chocolate chip) that Dean had made the morning prior.

When everything is picturesque, Dean tries to stifle a grin and slow his heart down from the rampant hammering in his chest. 

Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, he kneels down on the blanket, closes his eyes, and begins his prayer. "O boyfriend who art in heaven, Castiel be thy name. Please get your sexy self down here pronto. I have cookies," and for good measure, adds, "Amen."

Sitting crosslegged on the blanket, he picks up the bottle of wine and takes the corkscrew out of his pocket. 

Midway through uncorking the bottle, he feels the flutter of massive, invisible wings behind him, disturbing the air silently.

"You know everyone in heaven can hear you, right?" asks a deep, gravelly voice that always, unfailingly releases a hoard of butterflies that flutter around in Dean's stomach.

Dean huffs a laugh, twisting the corkscrew into the wine bottle without looking up. "What, are you ashamed of me?"

Cas rounds in front of Dean and sits down, immediately opening the large ziplock bag of cookies and shoving one in his mouth. "No," he explains after downing the first cookie and moving on to the next. "It's just that praying to your guardian angel and referring to him as 'sexy' is  _a little bit_ sacreligious."

His complaint falls on deaf ears, and Dean replies, "Hey, those are for dessert."

Cas finishes his second cookie, and, with a completely blank expression that anyone but Dean would find unnerving, says, "Oh. I had something very different in mind for dessert."

Dean, who had been levering the cork slowly out of the wine bottle, finally looks up at Cas while accidentally flinging the both cork and corkscrew somewhere into the depths of the nearby woods.

"Oh good, wine." Cas picks up a stemless wine glass and holds it out to Dean, who is still just staring at Cas with his hand in the air from throwing the corkscrew.

"Dessert?" he rasps at Cas.

"Wine," Cas smirks, holding the glass closer to Dean.

 "Dessert  _now_ ," Dean replies, voice low.

Castiel gives Dean a sideways grin, pink lips looking more delicious than the cookies that were just between them, and tells him, "But you prepared this lovely meal for us. We should at least enjoy it before I completely ravage you."

Dean, lips parted, gives a brief shake of his head before gracefully and quickly lifting himself onto his knees and crushing his mouth onto Castiel's, bunching his fists around the lapels of his trenchcoat and knocking him backward onto the grass. 

Cas is still clutching the wineglass, but lets go of it, guiding it onto the picnic blanket while grabbing Dean around the waist and rolling him over onto his back.

Separating from Dean's lips, Cas tells him, "But I'm hungry," perfectly serious, one hand on either side of Dean's head.

Dean laughs, and his ears are tickled by long blades of grass, the sun shining above him that is still not nearly as bright as the blue of Castiel's eyes.

Cas leans down and trails small kisses down Dean's neck.

Dean bites his bottom lip, stifling a moan. "I can't tell if you mean you're hungry for cookies or sex, because you can't _physically_ be hungry. You don't need..." Cas bites down gently on the hollow of his throat and Dean hisses. "...food."

"Can't I have both?" Cas asks between kisses, then reaches down to palm over the growing erection in Dean's jeans. 

Unable to hold back his gasp, Dean's eyes flutter closed and he replies, "Preferably not at the same time?"

Cas increases the pressure with which he's rubbing Dean through his jeans while pulling and sucking at his bottom lip. 

Then he sits up abruptly and turns toward the bag of cookies, saying, "As you wish."

Dean lifts up on his elbows, crooked grin impeding the false irritation in his voice. "Dammit, Cas."

Castiel is already halfway through another cookie when he looks back at Dean. "Did you bring any milk?"

"No," Dean replies, irate. "I brought lube."

Cas's expression changes to one of genuinely comical disgust. "Cookies would taste terrible with lubricant."

Dean lays back down on the ground with a huff. "Can we just fuck already?"

Suddenly, with a brief whoosh of air, Dean is completely naked, and Castiel, also naked, is kneeling between Dean's legs.

"Well that's a neat trick."

And then Cas's tongue is in Dean's mouth and he's lining their dicks up and sliding them against each other.

When this first started, their whatever-it-is relationship, Dean was self-conscious around Castiel, who is built as though he's been chiseled by hand from a large slab of stone. There's not an ounce of fat on him, nor body hair, nor skin blemish, nor any imperfection belonging to most human beings.

Dean sometimes forgets Cas is _not_ a human being. 

He plays one so well, Dean thinks. But on occasion, Dean will catch Castiel staring at him in much a way Dean imagines an alien would stare: with curiosity, confusion, and a bit of adoration.

Dean's self-consciousness went away the first time they made love, and Castiel made him feel beyond human, like he was more than just a sad foster kid ex-druggie who couldn't even manage to pull his own life together if someone handed him a million dollars.

Thankfully, he was handed Castiel instead, and for the first time in his whole life, Dean felt hope. 

Castiel is so much more than his guardian angel. More than his boyfriend. More than the man currently looming over him and slowly taking him apart with his perfect lips and hands and body. 

Castiel is everything good and kind and pure and beautiful in the entire spectrum of reality itself. 

The sun, a pathetically dim orb of light in comparison to Castiel, is glaring in Dean's eyes as Cas wraps his lips around Dean's nipple and bites down softly with his teeth. Dean closes his eyes against both the light and the bolt of pleasure running up his spine as Cas pins his bucking hips back down onto the grass.

Dean feels fluttering around him and a shadow grows over his eyelids. He opens his eyes to to an invisible awning, mere specks of glitter shimmering in the air above him, providing him with cool shade as Cas trails down Dean's stomach with light kisses and lifts Dean's legs off the ground.

Tangling his fingers through Castiel's hair, Dean whispers, "Cas..."

A suddenly slick finger probes at his entrance, circling around it, and Dean gasps. 

"That's..." Dean lets out a moan as Castiel presses a finger into him up to his knuckle. "...another neat trick."

Climbing back up Dean's body, Cas rests on his elbow above Dean, slowly working him open while staring intently at him.

This is what Cas likes: making Dean feel everything, the entire gamut of pleasure and emotion, extreme highs that no drug on this earth could ever match. Cas likes watching Dean as he takes him apart, little by little, and pieces him back together slowly, into something that is collectively, mysteriously better than the some of its parts. 

And Dean loves giving Cas what he wants.

So Dean stares back at Cas, mouth open and whimpering, unabashed want scrawled over his face as Cas takes his time.

Cas presses in a second finger and Dean's breath gets caught in his throat, coming out in a low groan.

Dean is greedy when it comes to Cas. He wants Castiel every moment of every day. Wants him to leave his cloud and be with Dean forever. But all Dean can have are his Sundays of worship, Cas's Sunday Morning Coming Down to the bleak world of Dean's reality of which the only light he wants and needs is Castiel.

These moments are eternity for Dean, as Cas finally, blissfully slips in a third finger, slowly sliding into him and out of him, into him and out of him, curling his fingers upward until at last he hits that sweet spot. Dean's vision blurs at the edges, and he has no control over his movements or the words that are escaping him, stream of consciousness love poems in the meter of moaning, gasping adoration.

Castiel leans down and kisses Dean deep, languid, sucking and biting at Dean's lips, rhythmically pressing up into him, just enough to keep Dean on the edge but not tip him over it.

Dean is leaking all over himself, beads of cum streaking down to his balls and adding to the slick heat of Cas's fingers.

Castiel crawls back down Dean's body and licks Dean clean, sucking the tip of his cock into his mouth and sliding slowly down it, tongue rolling around his head in pace with the movement of his hands rocking steadily into him.

Finally Cas sits up and slicks himself with the remaining lube and Dean's cum, kissing into the hollow of Deans throat, and rumbling, "May I?"

Dean can only whimper an affirmative. 

The head of Castiel's cock lines up with Dean's thoroughly prepped hole and presses slowly into him.

He pauses.

Dean's breath is hitched, and he writhes underneath Cas, eyes clenched shut and breathing shallow through his teeth. "Cas," he groans. " _Please_."

Castiel bottoms out into Dean in one long, slow push, and Dean shouts in pleasure, hips bucking up so that Cas can go deeper.

Castiel leans above Dean, still watching him, but now his breath is faster, the calm blue ocean of his eyes darkening, a storm cloud brewing in them.

Dean watches Castiel watch him as Cas thrusts into him deeply, slowly. Dean is panting, whining, groaning, grasping at every part of Cas he can touch, every perfect piece of skin. Dean can't get enough. No matter how deep he goes, there is no way for them to be as close as Dean wants them to be. Needs them to be. 

Dean needs these moments to be his eternity. He needs Cas like he needs air and water. He needs to breathe Cas. Drink Cas. He needs to show him all the love that Castiel gives him and more. He needs Cas to understand beyond a doubt that he is nothing but what Castiel has shaped him to be.

Castiel grips Dean and jerks him with a loose fist in time with his slow thrusts. It's unraveling Dean's mind, and Dean babbles, incoherent, throwing out the words  _love_ and  _Cas_ and  _please_ and  _want_ in succession without rhyme or reason.

The roll of Cas's hips begin to shudder, and he presses up at the perfect angle to graze Dean's prostate over and over and over again.

"Dean?" Cas asks, searching Dean's eyes, one hand gently caressing Dean's cheekbone while the other slides up and down his shaft, twisting a little at the head with every movement upward, making Dean's thigh muscles twitch.

"Uh huh?" Dean pants back, high-pitched, blindly searching back.

To anyone else, Castiel's expression might be blank where one would expect the contortion of pleasure. Cas always looks this calm, but Dean knows him, can read behind his eyes. Dean knows that Castiel's ultimate pleasure is pleasing Dean and Cas knows that right now, there is no pleasure better. It's the beautiful cycle of the unending want of want. The more Dean wants Cas, the more Cas wants him, the more euphoric they both feel when entwined in each other's embrace, pushing and pulling each other to climax in unison.

Their faces are barely apart, lips grazing each other, breathing into each other, stormy blue eyes meeting forest green ones, much like their current setting. "I love you."

This. This is the highest of highs. There is nothing better in life or hereafter that could ever feel as good as Castiel loving Dean and expressing that love with his body, his touch, his words, his heart which doesn't even need to beat except for the sake of Dean.

Dean crests over a tremendous orgasm, screaming Cas's name until birds flutter out of the branches in the distance, hot white streaks coating his chest and neck and Cas's hand. Cas watches with lust in his eyes and Dean swears he can see the lighting strike in them as Castiel comes hard into Dean, slamming forcefully into him until finally the waves subside.

Castiel slowly pulls out of Dean and, just as suddenly as they began, Dean is sitting upright, crosslegged, and fully dressed, exactly where he was sitting when he prayed to Cas to come down from heaven.

Still breathless, Dean falls over onto his side in a tangle of his own limbs and exhaustion. Sideways, he can see Cas eating another cookie. "Good god, Cas."

"I really don't think my father has anything to do with this," Cas says, casual, between bites while pouring himself a glass of wine.

As Dean notes Castiel's beautifully bruised lips, and his sex-tousled hair, and the way his adams apple bobs up and down when he swallows, a knot builds up in his stomach. Dread. It's the dread of knowing that Castiel has to leave soon and Dean can't see him again for a week. Of knowing that whatever they have is temporary anyway because Castiel is an immortal, all-powerful being and Dean is just a piece of trash, flitting from one dumpster to the next until Castiel can find him again and turn him into something valuable. Something someone may someday want, even if Dean himself will never believe it.

"I love you too," Dean says quietly, curling up into himself with a pang in his heart that reminds him of his worst withdrawals, those days that felt like years in hell.

Castiel is his savior. His hope. His new drug. 

Monday, Monday, the pain will begin.


End file.
